


Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

by Pookiethefrickinbunn



Series: Whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Confused Peter Parker, Delirium, Fever, Gen, Hurt Peter, Parent Steve Rogers, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superfamily, Whumptober 2019, no.3, tony stark is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 12:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pookiethefrickinbunn/pseuds/Pookiethefrickinbunn
Summary: It's the first time Peter has been sick since the blip, (or becoming Spider-Man in general) and Steve is not prepared take care of Peter alone.Whumptober 2019 Day 3 - Delirium - Superfamily fic.





	Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> So Endgame happened, but superfamily.   
Tony died to save the universe and Steve and Peter are what's left of the family.

To say that Steve was exhausted was an understatement. The soldier didn’t remember it being this hard. And by “it”, he meant taking care of a sick child. Of course there had been a five year gap in the time that his child had been dusted, but even then he felt like he had plenty of experience. Perhaps it was because he was taking care of a child who was enhanced. (Enhanced body, enhanced sickness.) Or maybe it was the fact that this was the first time Steve had to do it alone. 

It had been eight months since Tony sacrificed himself to save the universe. It was a big adjustment for both Steve and Peter, but they were getting by. The phrase “time heals all wounds” use to piss the soldier off, but the more time passed, the more Steve began to realize that it was true. Even if he didn’t like it. Peter and him had to move on, that’s how life worked. And a mutated flu-bug that could knock Peter on his ass didn’t care.

It had come on quick. On Tuesday, Peter had come back to the tower at an earlier time than usual. Steve was a little surprised to see him there so soon after school because Peter was normally out till dinner time. 

“No patrol tonight?” Steve had asked, to which Peter just shrugged as he walked towards his room. 

“I’m really sore today. I must have pushed myself too hard yesterday,” the teen supplied. “I might just stay in.” And with that, Peter was depositing his backpack by the coffee table before disappearing through the hallway entrance. 

“Okay,” Steve had said with a nod, his gaze returning to his book he was reading. “Well, let me know if you decide to go out later.” He had a feeling that the teen would grow restless and want to venture outside. In fact, Peter had been doing that a lot recently. Steve just assumed that his son was trying to deal with the loss of his father, and being in the tower was just too hard. 

So Steve was definitely surprised when he went to fetch Peter for dinner and the boy was still in his room. From that point on, Steve watched as his son slowly began to decline in health. First it was his stomach, then his head. Soon his joints began to hurt even more, and suddenly Peter had the full blown flu. Steve worried it might be something else, seeing as Peter didn’t get sick. But after calling Bruce down to look over the boy, it was determined that Peter was just sick. 

The next two days, Steve spent his time taking care of Peter. Most of the time the teen was hunched over the toilet, struggling to keep anything down. And from there Peter developed a fever. 

It was pretty high, but Bruce encouraged the father to not worry and let it run its course. Peter was clearly suffering, but Steve did his best to make him as comfortable as possible. He just wished Tony could be there to help. It was hard to do it all on his own. 

* * *

It was nearly two in the morning when Steve was awoken by Friday. He had spent a good amount of time trying to get his teenage son to fall asleep. And after making his way to the living room, Steve himself had just crashed. 

“Captain Rogers,” The metallic voice called out. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Peter seems to be awake and moving about the tower,” she reported. A low groan escaped Steve’s throat and he sat up slowly before stretching.

“Where is he?” the soldier asked with a yawn. 

“He is in the elevator heading down to sir’s lab,” Friday explained, making Steve still. He figured that Peter might be heading to the kitchen or the living room, but this was different. Peter hadn’t been in the lab since they moved back into the tower. Since Tony died. 

“Thank you Friday,” Steve said before getting up and making his way to the lower levels where Tony’s personal lab resided. 

When Steve finally arrived at the lab, he was surprised to find all the lights on in the open space. The brightness was actually hurting his eyes. And if they hurt  _ his  _ eyes, he was sure that it was hurting Peter’s. 

“Pete?” Steve called hesitantly stepping out of the elevator.

“Pops?” the tired boy replied, his voice increasing by an octave.

“I’m here,” Steve said, moving deeper into the lab so he could get a look at Peter. 

“Where is dad?” The teen asked suddenly, and the question made Steve’s stomach drop to his feet. All the blonde soldier could do was stare at where the boys voice was coming from.

“What do you mean bud?” Steve asked as he rounded the corner to see Peter sitting on Tony’s old work bench. He looked horrible, even worse than when Steve had left him hours ago. His son hardly had any color to his face and the dark circles around his eyes were prominent. It had only been a few days, but Peter had clearly lost a little bit of weight. The most alarming thing, though, was the dazed look in his eyes. Peter’s hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat and suddenly it clicked. Peter was battling a serious fever, and he was confused. 

“I-I checked in your guys’ bedroom and he wasn’t there, so I thought maybe he as down here. You know how he falls asleep down here sometimes,” Peter explained. “But he’s not here. I even checked the back futon and-” Peter suddenly stopped, letting out a frustrated groan as he pressed the ball of his thumbs up against his face. “Did he go on a business trip and not tell me?” the teen asked. 

Steve’s chest ached as he listened to Peter’s question. He knew the boy was delirious with a fever, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Peter the truth. He was just a sick boy looking for his dad, and it killed Steve that he couldn’t help him find what he was looking for. He felt so helpless. 

“Listen Peter,” Steve said as he took his son’s hands.(he was shaking) “Dad’s not here right now. But you don’t look too great. So let’s just go back upstairs and into bed. You’ll feel a whole lot better,” Steve said, hoping that Peter would just listen to him and drop the talk about Tony. 

“No,” Peter whined, hot tears building in his eyes. “I just want to talk to dad. Please,” Peter begged as he squeezed Steve’s hands. “Can’t I just call him? I promise I won’t be long.”

“Peter,” Steve said carefully. He said it as a warning, but he knew that the boy wouldn't pick on on the inflection in his voice. “Please, let’s just go back to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning,” Steve tried. The two looked at each other for a long moment before Peter’s eyes grew wide with panic, tears freely falling down his cheeks. 

“Pops,” Peter cried, his voice cracking. “Where is dad?”

“Peter please,” Steve said, his head bowing so Peter wouldn’t see the tears pricking at his eyes. This wasn’t easy. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” Peter asked, his entire body now shaking. “What happened? Where is he?” 

“He’s gone,” Steve suddenly interjected, his voice breaking as he spoke. “He’s gone Peter. I’m sorry, but Tony’s not coming back,” Steve said, scrubbing at his face with one of his hands. He could feel Peter jolt under his touch, be he tried to ignore it. They had never had a discussion like this when Tony passed. They both mourned, alone and together, but they never really  _ talked  _ about it. And it didn’t help that Steve had to explain it all to Peter. 

“What? N-No! What do you mean he’s gone?” Peter asked as he leaned forward, resting his burning skin against Steve’s shoulder. “He can’t just leave us like this.”

“He didn’t want to bud. He wanted to stay here, with you and me,” the soldier sniffed before planting a kiss on Peter’s warm head. “He wanted to so bad. But we were all in danger, and he loved you so much that he couldn’t sit by and let us get hurt,” Steve explained. 

“N-No. That didn’t happen. It couldn’t. Dad was just here. We went out for pizza together the other night and-” Peter suddenly cut off as a sob tore through his chest. “I just. I want dad. I want dad,” the teen cried, and all Steve could do was hold the boy closer to his chest. 

“Me too Petey,” Steve soothed as the boy began to babble, sobs wracking his body. It was going to be a long night. 


End file.
